Confection Confession
by DoubleEdgedSword99
Summary: In honor of "Ice-Cream Sandwich Day." America likes his decadent chocolate that is almost as showy as he is. England, however, prefers his desserts on the lighter, more fruity side. Right? And unorthodox method of taste-testing might change that... T for fluff and just-missed-it shonen-ai.


**A/N: Today (August second) is ice-cream sandwich day here in America. (Did you know that? Five minutes ago, I didn't either!) Need I say more? **

**/…/ = time skip.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia (sadly) or the ice-cream sandwiches (heartbreaking).**

* * *

England was having a good day.

Granted, he had only been awake for about two hours of it, but sunshine (for once), tea (always) and _no _distractions other than his own thoughts had always made him –

_Tap tap tap._

**-**feel at ease. (For once.) And there was absolutely nothing else he was going to do today besides sit outside and read –

_**Knock. Knock. Knock.**_

**- **that new novel he had been meaning to pick up. For once, he was going to try that thing called _peace _and _quie-_

_**BANG! BANG! BANG!**_

_...Damn it._

Scratch that.

"What?" England spit out scathingly, wrenching the door open and seeing America standing on his doorstep.

"Yo, England!" America called (despite the fact that he was a mere foot away from the unfortunate Englishman), and England scoffed again.

"What d'_you_ want?"

America just grinned before taking hold of one of England's arms.

_What now?!_

"Come on!" He exclaimed, taking advantage of the other nation's temporary inability to speak, and began tugging on the limb. He was able to get two steps out of him before England re-gained his voice.

"Wait, what?" England sputtered, taking hold of the doorframe and holding on for dear life, while America laughed. "It'll be fun!" He promised, ignoring the fact that he had not told England what_ it_ is.

"Where are we even going!? Hold on! Let go of me!"

**/…/**

"Ice-cream," England said frostily (no pun intended), staring at the parlor before them, "You kidnapped me all because of _ice-cream_."

America beamed. "Yep! And guess what?"

England massaged his temples in an attempt to woo away an on-coming headache, then muttered darkly under his breath, "I can only imagine…"

"You're paying for it!" America continued, as if he had not been interrupted.

"What? No!"

Disregarding England's protests, America marched him forward (he hadn't let go of his arm yet; if he wasn't careful, he could stop the other nation's circulation) and through the door, that was held open by a brick.

The store was almost empty, which was in both parts surprising due to the heat of the day, and to be expected thanks to the early hour. (England checked the clock on the wall – it was ten o'clock in the morning. Good God, ice-cream at ten in the morning. Only America... Well, hopefully this would be over soon and he could get back to his own lovely home – even if the initial tranquility had been ripped to shreds, there could still be something to salvage.)

The place America had dragged him to really was quite nice, even England could bitterly admit. It was old-fashioned in its interior, and even the concept of the restaurant – how many ice-cream parlors do you see these days? – in itself was something England had almost forgotten. While being shown to their seats by an overly-flirty waitress (just looking at her bat her eyelashes made England's teeth want to snap together and start grinding), he distracted himself from his company by admiring the simplicity of it all. (Not that he would ever tell America that he thought so – there is no way in hell England will inflate _that_ head!)

"So, whaddya want?" America asked absently, flipping through the laminated pages of various ice-cream dishes. England shifted in the leather booth before making a non-committal noise and opening his own pamphlet. Though he hated to admit it, several things in particular jumped out at him. Quickly deciding on a banana split (he never much liked wavering on a decision), he fixed his gaze on a groove in their table and let a few minutes pass in silence.

In truth, it wasn't really the huffy silence England was hoping for. It was more of an awkward silence on his part, and an absorbed one on America's. The idiot never was good at such things like _intuition…_ Shamefully enough, this was one of the first things the two nation's had done together alone since…

_That rainy day when you realized you were weak, that the thing you much wanted to protect was being smothered by you and everything that you had worked for was crashing around your ears-_

… The Revolutionary War.

It's not as if England was _avoiding _the other nation, it was just that America had wanted his independence, and now he was giving it to him. Petty, yes, but then again, decades piled upon decades didn't make it any less humiliating to see America. It was the most crushing emotional blow he had suffered, and America just _had _to broadcast it at every turn. He had thought it was malicious, but the immature man probably didn't understand just how _painful _the pang in his chest was every single damn time he saw the American flag. (Or, at least, that's what he was telling himself.)

The waitress came back, swaying her hips more than was necessary and giving them both exactly six blinks each, before cooing, "Is there anything I can get for you?"

America cut ahead as England opened his mouth to speak, and ordered a chocolate ice-cream sandwich. England muttered his order and handed over his menu in turn. With one last look that was probably supposed to be cute or pouty but just looked as though she was going to throw up, the waitress left and they were plunged into silence again. America (oblivious as always) broke it, saying with a smile, "You still like fruity desserts over chocolate, I guess."

England looked up, slightly startled. "I do?"

America chuckled genially before nodding sagely. "You never eat chocolate."

Englandhadn't known America had been stalking his dessert preferences. "I do to eat chocolate!" He challenged, and America raised his eyebrows – _challenge accepted._

They argued over that point and similar ones ("Well, if you _do _eat chocolate," America said skeptically, "it's always white and that's not really chocolate anyway." He sat back as if to say, "I win!" and England would not have that, of course, so the debate began) until America spotted their desserts swaying towards them.

England's was as light and creamy as he had hoped, while America's was much more decadent than it had sounded – it was giant, for one thing, dusted with powdered sugar, and drizzled with melted chocolate. Ignoring the fork resting on the side of the plate, America picked it up and began gnawing at it determinedly.

England shook his head – hadn't he taught him to take small, polite bites in public? Sheesh – and turned to his own treat.

Ignoring the unknowingly suggestive noises of satisfaction coming from the other side of the table (there was one embarrassing innuendo sidestepped), England melted into the routine task of small talk between bites. It became apparent within a few sentences, however, that the younger nation was ignoring him, choosing instead to focus on putting down the half-devoured confection and heaving a self-satisfied.

Letting his irritation guide his thought process, England leaned forward and snatched it, holding the chocolaty sandwich hostage loosely between his lips. _Ha_, he thought, momentarily savoring his victory, before he realized that America was coming to rescue the thing.

_Wait, what? Er…_

It was a breathless moment as America leaned closer and – _ah, too close, too close_ – closed his own lips over the other side of the ice-cream sandwich. The two pairs of eyes met, and America's eyes seemed to sparkle even brighter as England saw his own widened, perfectly green ones reflected there – _almost as if they were meant to be_, he wondered mindlessly – before he pulled back and swallowed the bite he had stolen back.

England was surprised the remainder of it hadn't fallen out of his mouth by now.

"You can keep the rest," America said, voice abnormally soft and hungry – _how can he be, though? He just – ah, that kind of… Wait, no!_ – "and I guess you like chocolate after all."

* * *

**Afterwards: It was so fluffy… Then **_**angstangstangstangst **_**and then back to fluffy… First time writing for the Hetalia fandom – I'd like to know how I did (if I did well, if the characters were OOC, what I can do to change that, et cetera)! So, please review and I'll see you next time. Thanks for reading!**


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